Moving

“Why do you take forever to choose curtains?” she heard him muttering under his breath, as she carefully tiptoed around the carelessly thrown curtains all over the floor. Giggling with excitement, yet quite determined about what she wanted, she ignored him with a smile, pouring over everything she liked, in absolute detail, unable to make up her mind. It was only an hour later that they both emerged from the shop, she triumphant, he looking absolutely bedraggled and bored. It was their first home together and she knew how she wanted it to look. Constrained by budgets, yet unbound by love, she would make sure they woke up in a sun-dappled bedroom every morning, the little glitzy polkis shimmering in the sunlight, against the white mulmul curtains that hung carelessly over her window.

The cartons seemed never-ending. They were stacked in all sizes. Some were labelled, some just had their names scrawled with a fading black marker. He was huffing and panting, lugging them across the rooms, trying to figure out at the earliest, what went where. Else it would be double the work he knew. She wasn’t one to let things lie around lightly and wait till the next weekend to unpack. The boxes seem to have multiplied in number she thought, looking down at them. Ten years. She was putting ten years into neat little boxes, labelling them room by room, naming them to be only her own. What would she do with his stuff though? Keep them in a separate box or pile them in with hers? Putting them together would be easier. But maybe it was best otherwise. They were his and she had hers. And now there wasnt a we.

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